


The Shawl is Probably Not the Only Thing

by kayliemalinza



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-25
Updated: 2008-02-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 03:28:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm not entirely sure how Gerard and Frank came to be the Doctor's companions, but it must've happened pretty recently.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Shawl is Probably Not the Only Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not entirely sure how Gerard and Frank came to be the Doctor's companions, but it must've happened pretty recently.

Gerard had done a middle school report on deserts, so he technically knew that they could be very cold. However, a paragraph at the end of a 1984 Encyclopedia Britannica article didn't prepare him for the cut of the wind or the grit that pelted any exposed skin. He could deal with the wind alright; it wasn't anything he hadn't experienced while waiting for the bus on Jersey mornings. The grit was just petty; it scraped into every bit of skin no matter how you turned your body, like a pissed-off smart-ass who answered everything with something snitty. The worst part of _this_ desert, though, was that his boogers dried out instantly.

It was a legitimate complaint, Gerard felt. The desiccated boogers pulled painfully at his nose hairs and he couldn't really fix that with Frank right next to him (not that Frank would really mind) and with the Doctor standing a few feet away, the ends of his scarf snapping roguishly in the wind. The Doctor, currently peering curiously over the edge of a mesa limned with bright blue rock strata, was obviously used to a certain level of oddity, but Gerard's mama taught him better than to pick his nose in public. "Public" meaning, in this case, "a dry and barren wasteland on a planet best described as the butt crack of the universe," except butt cracks were usually hot and moist. Manners were still important, though.

The Doctor pointed the sonic screwdriver at the ground at the base of the mesa—several miles down, Gerard figured, not that he'd gotten close enough to the edge to really look—and frowned at the resultant beeps. Frank glared at the desert in general and Gerard wondered if his boogers had dried out, too.

"The Daleks should be heading through here in the next few hours," the Doctor mused, setting one sensible brown leather shoe closer to the edge. The scarf became agitated (it was really just the wind making it flap around) as he peered down the rock face. "The only question is whether or not they'll have discovered and destroyed the Pashmina of Zondra by then. I dearly hope not."

"Zondra can go to J.C. Penney's and buy another one," Frank muttered. "I really don't give a fuck." He pulled his arms inside his t-shirt and squatted down.

"It's a magical pashmina," Gerard said. When Frank buried his face in his knees, Gerard noticed the back of his neck was speckled pink from all the grit. "Do you want my jacket?"

Frank shook his head.

"I have long sleeves on under it," Gerard said. "I'll be fine."

The Doctor slipped the sonic screwdriver back into his pocket and stepped back from the edge, still scanning for migratory death machines. "Some 25th century analysts—25th Earth century, that is, I converted it for your convenience—believe that the Pashmina of Zondra is actually the Shawl of Ignazoli, the Toha Goddess of Distemper. The Shawl disappeared from her temple during the Iro-Toha war. The Iros, of course, were the people to whom Zondra belonged. You see how the analysts came to their conclusions."

"Come on, we can both have long sleeves," Gerard said. He pulled off his jacket and draped it on Frank, careful to cover the gap between t-shirt and jeans; the skin there was already showing signs of abuse. Frank didn't answer, but slipped his arms into the denim sleeves. Gerard shivered.

The Doctor tightened the scarf around his neck. "The significance, of course," he said over his shoulder to them, "is that Ignazoli was in fact a deep space explorer from an unidentified, technologically advanced race. The so called 'magical properties' of the Shawl are likely the result of her race's brilliant technology, which remains in legend but has otherwise been lost. They could reverse the effects of too much heat, you know. Took the risk out of baking."

"Gerard, take it back. Your teeth are chattering," Frank said. He stood up and went to shrug off the jacket but Gerard shook his head so Frank stepped close instead. With their bodies pressed together, half the wind chill was gone. Gerard found he could protect his face by burying it in Frank's neck.

"Jeez, man. Your nose is _freezing_ ," Frank said. Gerard smiled.

The Doctor turned away from his survey of the desert. "You chaps look a bit weathered," he said, curls frotting gleefully about his face. "Would you like to borrow the ends of my scarf? There's plenty to spare."

Gerard had barely said "absolutely" before the Doctor wrapped both ends thoroughly around them, tucking the tassels in securely.

"Now step over here, if you please," the Doctor said, guiding their blind four-legged shuffle with a polite hand. "I'll continue to watch for the expected extermination party." His coat flapped around them, blocking even more of the unfair desert wind.

Gerard felt Frank's mouth, pressed against his cheek inside the protective scarf cocoon, turn up in a smile.

"This is way more fun than press conferences," Frank whispered, and Gerard had to agree.

Except for the boogers.


End file.
